Dark Place
by an-alternate-world
Summary: Carlos is patrolling the streets in the early hours of the morning when he spies two figures standing too close together. He never could have imagined who he found or the reasons that he was there. ['Safe Space' follow-up]


**Title: **Dark Place  
**Author: **an-alternate-world  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters/Pairing: **Carlos Reyes/TK Strand  
**Word Count:** 3,658  
**Summary:** Carlos is patrolling the streets in the early hours of the morning when he spies two figures standing too close together. He never could have imagined who he found or the reasons that he was there.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** _FOLLOW UP TO 'SAFE SPACE'_ though it's not strictly necessary to have read that before. Storylines for 911 Lone Star from the first couple of episodes, but this is a future musings fic.  
**Disclaimer: **I am in no way associated with 911 Lone Star, Fox, or anything else related to that particular universe.

* * *

There must be something in the water or the air because it's been a slow night, and the slow nights are usually the worst. There's been nothing major to pass the hours, nothing exciting to get his blood racing, nothing _big_ that required witness statements and arrests. Nothing even requiring a call for back-up. He hardly needs big night shifts but…the slow and quiet night shifts are _boring_.

Every time he checks the time on the dashboard, it seems like only a handful of minutes have passed since he last checked it. He's tempted to radio back to the station, ask if can park there for an hour or two and move papers around, but he knows he's on patrol and patrol means driving around, zig-zagging through streets, attempting to find new ways to carve the streets into grids and squares like it's some sort of city-sized game of Pac Man.

He sighs, turning onto another shadowed street and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. There's a danger to the endless circling on patrol, because his eyes are sore and his brain is fatigued and he's no longer paying attention to his surroundings. It's the middle of the night, or the morning if he's really honest, and the streets are always fairly deserted at this time.

He squints at the shimmer of something from his headlights and he squints, flicking to high beam while slowing his speed. The light flashes off some sort of reflective shoe detail of one of the people, with another in dark clothes standing too close to not be something suspicious. As soon as the increased light catches them, they split in opposite directions and it's enough to know something shady is going down.

The one with the shiny shoes runs straight past him, face concealed by a hoodie, and they're too hard to follow with his car in reverse when the other is sprinting away from him and he can stay in drive. If he's lucky, he'll catch this one and then get a name for the other one that he can pick up later.

Dark Clothes is clever though, darting down an alley that Carlos can't fit the cruiser through. With a sigh and an eye roll because _why do they always have to run?_, he leaps from the cruiser, locks it behind him and takes off in a foot pursuit.

He stutters his way through a radio call back to base because he's chasing someone, gives the best description he can of Shiny Shoes in case someone else is patrolling the area, and reaches for the torch at his belt so he can try to keep up with Dark Clothes because in the darkness, it would be too easy for them to vanish into the shadows like Batman.

Carlos spies Dark Clothes veer to the left and follows once he reaches it. This alley presses even closer and darker but he can still hear the pounding footsteps ahead, the ragged breaths bouncing off the walls and echoing back at him.

"Stop!" he yells, wishing everyone actually did just that. He knows instinctively _why_ no one ever stops for the cops but running just makes people seem guiltier. Besides, they rarely got away. "Police! Stop where you are!"

There's a sharp jangling sound, like glass spinning on concrete, and a shout, and then the very distinct sound of a body hitting the ground followed by a moaned curse. Carlos' hand is already at his hip, unclipping his gun from the holster as he closes the gap.

"Don't move," he says, pressing one fist on top of the other to move swiftly but steadily through the alley towards Dark Clothes. He can tell it's a man from his general body shape as he lies sprawled on the ground, hands stretched above him. One wrist looks to be twisted and that's just what Carlos needs – arresting someone with a broken limb. Extra paperwork, a review of police brutality, complaints levelled against him and the city for an unnecessary chase. He grits his teeth and tries to shake the thoughts away because _not the time, Reyes_.

He kicks the man's legs apart to check for any sort of weapon and there's a pained whimper when his boot connects with the right leg, which is presumably related to the shrill sound of glass on concrete that led to the fall in the first place.

"You got a weapon?"

"N-No," a small voice says beneath him and Carlos knows that's not good enough, that plenty of perps say that when they are, in fact, packing heat and waiting for a lapse.

"What are you doing here tonight?" he says, clenching torch and gun in one hand while quickly patting his other over ankles, up the back of knees, peeling back the hoodie to check the waistband of his jeans.

"N-Nothing. I- I just g-got caught talking to s-someone on the street and he freaked out at the c-car so I ran too."

Carlos doesn't buy that for a minute either, but he hasn't felt a weapon so he clicks on the safety and places a hand at the man's waist. With a rough tug, he flips the body over and his torch catches on a pale face he knows far too well and never could have expected to see here.

"TK?" He hesitates for a moment before holstering his weapon, leaving the torch shining on the tear-streaked face on the ground beneath him. "Yo, what the _hell_? I could've shot you."

TK's bottom lip wavers, something distant in his eyes that Carlos doesn't like when recognition seeps into his expression. "I- I didn't know it was you, Carlos."

Carlos stares at him, aware that his face has to be swathed in darkness, and focuses on how many lies he might already have been told by TK tonight, and every time he's seen TK. It occurs to him just how poorly he knows the guy.

He shifts so he's next to TK, crouching beside him to lift him off the ground and into a sitting position. "Alright, let's start with the simple. What's wrong with your ankle and wrist? Do I need to call paramedics?"

"_No_! No, don't do that. I-" TK swallows, tugs his right leg towards his chest and folds the ankle over his thigh. His left hand peels back the fabric of his jeans, tentative fingers brushing over the joint as he runs his own diagnostics that Carlos watches closely because he can't afford to screw this up. "I- I'm pretty sure it's just sprained after I lost my balance. Some ice and wrapping it up for a few days and I should be okay."

"And your wrist?" Carlos says, switching the beam of his torch to his second injury concern.

TK shrugs, pulling his sleeve up and wrinkling his nose slightly. "It's not painful enough to be dislocated or broken but ice and strapping are also probably advisable."

"So no need for a trip to the ER?"

TK shakes his head rapidly, looking panic-stricken at the suggestion. Carlos files it away, wonders at all the secrets he doesn't know or understand. Will TK ever tell him anything? Or even _something_ about himself? He knows TK's father has cancer and they moved from New York. Beyond that, he's virtually a stranger.

"Alright." He holds out a hand to TK and trembling fingers twist into his, using Carlos' strength to pull him to his feet where he makes a muffled sort of grunt when he puts his weight down. "I can get you some ice at the station but if it seems like either your ankle or your wrist get worse, we're going to the ER."

"I- Please- My Dad will get called and he- He'll freak out," TK begs and Carlos wraps an arm around his waist to support him while he hobbles through the alley.

"Why would he freak out? He obviously loves you." He recalls how hysterical TK had been on his doorstep a little over a week ago because of the news of the cancer diagnosis and how TK has basically orbited around him ever since without gravitating any closer. It's like the cha-cha, except TK doesn't seem to remember he's meant to step closer again. "You obviously love him."

But TK presses his lips together, a thin white line on his tired pale face, and Carlos tries to remember if the smudged darkness beneath his eyes had been there before, if the hollow sadness had lingered in the tension of his shoulders when he'd first asked TK to dance. He feels like it wasn't but he's starting to suspect there's a lot he missed while they line-danced in the bar.

He tries a different angle because when he shows up at the station with a hobbling firefighter after radioing in a possible call, there were going to be questions and he was going to need at least some answers to spin some version of a truth that sounded believable. It's not like he hasn't done the same with Michelle for years. But he knows Michelle's story, and he knows how to thread enough truths to the lies to make things sound acceptable.

He doesn't know TK.

"So did you _actually_ get caught talking to some stranger on the street?" he asks as neutrally as possible. He feels the way TK shifts against him and determines that there's more to _that_ particular story than he'd previously been told. "TK, what were you doing here? Who was that?"

"N-No one," TK stammers and Carlos rolls his eyes, fixes him with a stare that must be barely seen in the darkness when his torch is trained on the ground to avoid either of them tripping and ending up with worse injuries.

"Try again," he says but TK shakes his head again and Carlos frowns, shifts TK's body to press him against a wall so Carlos can train the torch on his face. TK's pupils are blown, and if the developing circles are anything to go by that Carlos would swear weren't there when he'd moved from New York, TK's not sleeping well either. There's something both pinched and panicked in his expression, something Carlos has seen before when he's been questioning someone on the street after they'd fled from him. It stirs something uneasy in his stomach. "TK?" he prompts.

TK seals his lips together, eyes looking towards the sky, refusing to meet Carlos' stare and Carlos just about yells at him because what _is_ this? How does someone show up at his house at three in the morning and then clamp down so thoroughly? It's _infuriating_. He feels so drawn to TK, something that had caught his interest in the sparkle of his eyes or the shy tilt of his lips, but TK simultaneously keeps shutting him out. He's afraid to push closer and he's afraid to pull away because he doesn't know what TK needs but Carlos is willing to give him anything if it erases the haunted, hollow look in his expression.

Carlos' eyes narrow, his torch flashing over TK's face because there's something Carlos doesn't want to admit to himself which sparks in his brain when he realises he _has_ seen this expression before, this _exact _expression. Just not on TK. And it's not one he ever would have expected to see on TK.

"Were you trying to score?" he says, aiming for dubious, like he doesn't trust his own suspicions.

The way TK's eyes widen a fraction and his pupils dart, the way his bottom lip disappears behind his teeth, the way his chest heaves around a shaky breath… Carlos knows he's right. He nearly drops the torch, or the hold he has on TK's shoulder that's pinning him against the wall, because _what_?

"_What_?" explodes out of his mouth, echoing the screeching thought in his head.

It comes out more shrill than he'd anticipated because he's stunned. He has a whole lot of questions, not least of all how TK can be a firefighter, and if he's been high on the job, and if Captain Strand knows, and whether this is a one-time thing or an ongoing thing, and- His thoughts stumble to a stop because he can tell from the look in TK's eyes, from the way he'd run at seeing his cruiser, that this is definitely not a one-time thing. TK knew what he was after and he knew what he was doing. Hell, he even knew the alley escape routes.

He grits his teeth, removes the hand from TK's shoulder to start digging into pockets until he finds the little bag with three pills shoved inside the right pocket of his jeans. TK stifles a sob, head dropping forward and Carlos wonders what the hell he's meant to do now.

"What is it?" he demands, holding the bag up to the light and squinting at the pills to see what stamps have been made in the power. "MDMA? Oxy?" TK shifts against him and his eyes return to scrutinise the expression on his face, the tracks of tears spilling down his cheeks. "Christ, TK. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

"Please don't tell my Dad," TK whispers and Carlos frowns, shoves the bag into his pocket to get rid of later even though it's evidence and he should be snapping handcuffs around TK's wrists. "Please, I- He- He can't know, Carlos."

"Why not?" Carlos demands, feeling a tinge of fury in his fingertips because how the hell is he meant to cover up _this_ from a firefighter Captain in his district? "Is that what this is? You're trying to, what, _cope_ with his diagnosis by getting high? Or refusing to face it so you're scoring instead? This is a _problem_, TK."

TK's lower lip wobbles, raising a sleeve-covered hand to wipe at his face. "I know. I- I don't even know if I would've taken them. It just- It was stupid. Can- Can we pretend it never happened?"

Carlos stares at him, certain that the bag in his pocket is hot enough to set his uniform on fire, and changes his mind about taking TK to the station to obtain ice and strapping because there's no way he can act calm if he's got drugs in his pocket. Hell, all it would take was one K-9 unit to be in the vicinity and they could _both_ be tossed out on their asses.

"I'm taking you home," he resolves, and there won't be any argument TK can possibly make to the contrary.

"B-But-"

"I won't tell your father," he says, gaze narrowing, "_this_ time. But if I have to chase you again, or anyone else chases you down and I hear about it, I'll tell him about this time."

TK wilts, eyes falling towards the floor.

"And you'd better believe I'll start dragging you to whatever meetings there are in the city until you start working the steps, and get a sponsor, and put in the effort to get clean and _stay_ clean."

"I'm already going to AA," TK mumbles and Carlos almost wants to press the heel of his hands into his eyes because _that_ at least explained the aversion to the wine when he'd tried to set up the dinner that had gone so hellishly wrong. It was one part of a jagged TK puzzle that was still missing a lot of pieces.

"Well, AA won't do anything when you're buying pills off some street kid," Carlos says, poking at TK's shoulder. "I'm not going to have you OD on me, TK. Especially if you're scoring bad junk."

If it were possible for TK's skin to turn paler, then Carlos suspects it's almost become translucent. There's something else there, something in what he said, and he'll think about it later when he's driving through empty streets so that he can yell into his silent cruiser when he slots more pieces together.

"Now, let's get you home," Carlos insists, snapping the torch away from TK's face, wrapping the arm around his waist again, and resuming the hobbling journey back to his cruiser. Once there, he helps TK into the backseat, ignoring the miserable pout that gets turned on him because he's never been persuaded to put Michelle in the passenger seat and he's not about to be persuaded by TK's doe eyes either.

Once TK mutters his address, it's a drive that's almost as awkward as Michelle in the backseat whenever he has to haul her away from the latest scene she's made about her sister. Every time Carlos glances in the rear-view mirror, he can see the defiant glint in TK's eyes coupled with a sad tilt to his lips which he thinks betrays the conflicting emotions TK has to be feeling.

"You're not gonna lecture me?" TK says eventually, his voice quiet and lost as he stares out the window at the passing streets.

"Would you listen to it if I did?" Carlos challenges and TK's silence is enough of an answer. "You're smart enough, or at least trained enough, to know what you're doing is a problem, TK. You don't need to hear that from me."

"You sound like Dad."

Carlos processes the knowledge that Captain Strand must know, at least in some way, that TK has a drug problem. It's a small relief. The last thing he'd want is to raise it as a concerned…colleague and the Captain had no idea and yelled at him about making up stories about his perfect, precious son.

He slows at a red light, looks in the rear-view at TK. "What would you rather I say, TK? How would you rather I sound?"

TK meets his eyes for a brief moment, then returns to looking out the window and shrugs.

Carlos bites back a sigh of frustration, or maybe disappointment. How many times was he meant to extend a hand of support before he stopped having his fingers bitten off?

"I told you my place was a safe space for you," Carlos says, the edge of something firm and determined creeping into his gentle attempt at prising TK apart to understand him. "I know we sometimes work the same shift or opposing shifts but I can be a friend, TK. If that's what you need here in Austin, someone to call when you're feeling like you need to go out and score but you can't tell your Dad how you feel, then you can pick up the phone and call me."

The traffic light casts an eerie green glow through the car but it's the early hours and no one else is on the roads. It's probably a good thing because he keeps his eyes on TK, watching him closely enough that he sees the brief moment when TK looks at him with undisguised anxiety.

"No strings, no sex, no food. Just someone to call if you need, alright?" he reiterates and he can tell TK is struggling with the offer from the twisting of his lips – which makes him wonder what it had been like for him in New York, who he'd relied on when things had gone bad, when he'd last used or scored – but TK twitches with a small nod and that seems like enough of a victory that Carlos is unwilling to ask more questions.

The rest of the trip to TK's house passes in silence and Carlos is back to tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, driving through empty streets in an aimless, zig-zagging sort of pattern to kill time or hopefully reduce some of TK's anxiety levels before he has to face his house.

Carlos has to get out of the car when they arrive at TK's house, opening the rear door and extending a hand. TK ignores it, scooting out of the seat and meeting his eyes warily when Carlos shuts the door.

"I meant what I said, TK." He keeps his distance, somehow feeling more awkward in his uniform, that there's a barrier between them he can't breach when he's on the job. He wishes he could wrap his arms around TK and hold him tight for a few minutes, fold a blanket around his shoulders and protect him from his own insecurities and demons. "You've got my number. Use it. Use it instead of _using_."

TK rolls his eyes. "That was a terrible line."

"You understood what I'm asking of you though, right?"

TK sighs, leans in to press a brief kiss to Carlos' cheek, and rocks back on his heels. "Yes, Carlos. I understand."

Carlos watches TK walk away, the path crunching slowly beneath his limping foot, and shoves his hands in his pocket. He wonders if he made the right decision to conceal this from Captain Strand. The guy has cancer, after all, and surely has enough worries but TK is his kid and he can tell there's a tight bond between them. More than anything, Carlos is afraid that talking to Captain Strand now would feel like a betrayal and he could believe that it would sever any attempt to patch the crumbling bridge that had been built between them.

He hears the plastic crinkle of the tiny bag between his fingers, the sharp ridge of pills in one corner. He'll crush them at the gas station the first chance he gets, flushing them into a water supply that someone else can deal with because of other chemicals.

He looks towards TK's house, at the soft glow of lights drifting from room to room as he moved, and is glad for the slow night because if someone else had found TK, he might not have been so lucky as to just get a free lift home. It's a slow night but at least now, Carlos has something to occupy his mind while he plays Pac Man on the streets.

* * *

_**~FIN~**_


End file.
